


Full Ride (Out of Here)

by NaoNazo



Series: Designated Winchester At Birth [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: DFAB Sam Winchester, Gen, Menstruation mention, Pre-Series, Trans Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:11:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaoNazo/pseuds/NaoNazo
Summary: Ericka went on, probably assurances and further congratulations, but he didn't hear any of it. Full ride. The phrase rang through his head, sweeping out doubt and fear, expanding into his lungs, radiating through his fingers and toes. He didn't realize he was crying until the hand that held the phone was tear-wet, and by then it was too late to stop.Pulling his legs up onto the bed, he curled over his knees, cradled the phone and cried. Cried like he hadn't in years, cried in great gulping sobs that racked through his throat and made him sniffle convulsively."Sam, honey, I thought you'd be happy," Ericka said, after the force of his sobs had abated somewhat. He laughed wetly."I am?" He tried. "But... my dad and Dean...""Sam...""I know... I have to leave them sometime if I want to live my life. And this is, God, it's everything I never thought I'd have. It's STANFORD. I can't even-- and they want me! ME." He laughed again, wiping his cheeks, then his nose, on the sleeve of his flannel. "But now it's like... there's an expiration date on my family. Like I have to choose between being me or being with them."





	Full Ride (Out of Here)

March, 2000:

 

Sam's phone began to ring in his hand, and even though it was the call he'd been waiting for, hoping for for months, he almost couldn't make himself flip the phone open.

 

 

His cell would ring twelve times uninterrupted before it went into "voice message record" mode. He held it in the palm of his hand and ran his thumb up and down its buzzing edges, trapped by indecisiveness, until it almost reached its terminal ring. Taking a deep breath, he snapped it open to answer.

 

"Hey Ericka!" He said.

 

"Sam, are you alone?" Erika's voice thrummed with restrained energy. He looked around. Dad and Dean were on a beer run, which meant they were probably hustling pool and/or poker. He didn't expect them back until later.

 

"Yeah, Ericka. What's up?"

 

"Are you sitting down?" She asked, voice brightening so much he could practically hear her grin.

 

"Ericka...."

 

"Sam, you got a letter from Stanford. I haven't opened it yet but, sweetie, it's a thick envelope."

 

Sam gulped. His hands were tingling, suddenly. "Open it?" He croaked.

 

There was a brief pause while she tore open the envelope and started scanning. Then she shrieked.

 

Sam had a hand on his knife before it registered that she was repeating something over and over, that she sounded happy.

 

"YOUGOTINYOUGOTINYOUGOTIN!"

 

Suddenly he was grinning fit to burst. "I really... I got in?"

 

Ericka cut off her chant to shout to someone, "he got in!" And Sam realized that her whole family was listening in, cheering along. For HIM.

 

His stomach sank, suddenly. His family would not take it this well. And...

 

"Ericka," he interjected, over the shuffling and giggling of what sounded like four people doing an impromptu happy dance, "did I get any other letters? I mean... Stanford's. It's just. It's GREAT--" his voice cracked a little-- "but it's also super expensive."

 

He had been saving for years, since he was old enough to pick up part time jobs like mowing, gardening, painting walls. At one of his schools, he'd been able to pick up a tutoring gig for a month or two, teaching statistics to a foreign exchange student after school. Still, it was almost impossible to save money when at any given day the cash could run out and he and Dean would be out of food. He had maybe $200 squirreled away in his duffel, and he'd only applied to Stanford because a counselor in Chicago had been adamant that his grades were good enough, and had gotten him a fee waiver. He'd be lucky if he could go to his safety school in De Anza.

 

"Sam." Ericka's voice was fierce. "Sam, you're going to Stanford."

 

"But--"

 

She cut him off. "And do you know why you're going?" She laughed again, bright and clear and joyous. "Because you got a fucking. Full. Ride."

 

He dropped the phone. He-- what?

 

"Sam?"

 

He picked the phone back up. "You're shitting me."

 

Ericka went on, probably assurances and further congratulations, but he didn't hear any of it, sinking down on the nearest bed. Full ride. The phrase rang through his head, sweeping out doubt and fear, expanding into his lungs, radiating through his fingers and toes. He didn't realize he was crying until the hand that held the phone was tear-wet, and by then it was too late to stop.

 

Pulling his legs up onto the stained comforter, he curled over his knees, cradled the phone and cried. Cried like he hadn't in years, cried in great gulping sobs that racked through his throat and made him sniffle convulsively. The other end of the phone hushed, and he could hear his friend shushing him softly over the line.

 

"Sam, honey, I thought you'd be happy," Ericka said, after the force of his sobs had abated somewhat. He laughed wetly.

 

"I am?" He tried. "But... my dad and Dean..."

 

"Sam..."

 

"I know... I have to leave them sometime if I want to live my life. And this is, God, it's everything I never thought I'd have. It's STANFORD. I can't even-- and they want me! ME." He laughed again, wiping his cheeks, then his nose, on the sleeve of his flannel. "But now it's like... there's an expiration date on my family. Like I have to choose between being me or being with them."

 

Ericka hummed encouragingly, her usual nonverbal signal to "go on." Sam shook his head, glanced at the clock.

 

"It's fine, I'm just... it's gonna be bad when I have to tell them. I'll wait until we're somewhere nearer California."

 

"As long as you're sure," Ericka responded. "I'll scan the pages and send them to you, okay? Unless you have a fax?"

 

Sam snorted. "This motel barely has a microwave. I'll make do with email copies."

 

"Well, let us know when you head to campus, alright? We wanna be there to help you settle in," she added.

 

Sam got up to splash some water on his face, hoping to cool down his eyes before they turned red. Dean would never let him hear the end of it if he thought Sam had been crying. Winchesters didn't cry. Well, not unless they were plastered on the night of Mary's murder. Or letting a few manly tears of pain drop while getting stitched up. Or watching that movie about the dog that waited at the train station for his dead owner, although Dean had sworn him to secrecy on that one.

 

"You don't have to," he argued. "It's not like I have more than a bag to unpack, anyway." More like half a bag, really, since he'd have to leave most of his weapons here. Not like Stanford allowed unlicensed firearms in the dorms. Or salt lines, probably, but he'd figure something out. God, he was going to have a place to STAY. For a WHOLE YEAR. And then he'd get to stay in the SAME CITY for the next three years! He wondered how long it would take before "home" became a dorm room instead of a classic car.

 

"Did you miss the part where I said we wanted to, Sam?" Ericka asked, sighing. "Hang on, Barry wants the phone."

 

"Yeah okay--"

 

"SAM! CONGRATS, BRO!" Barry shouted, obviously too hyped to control his volume. Sam couldn't contain a grin. He and Barry might not communicate as regularly as Sam did with Ericka, but they still clicked well as friends.

 

"Hey, Barry. Thanks! Did you get any letters back? You were waiting on Berkeley and Oberlin, right?" he asked. And hiccupped. Damn. He'd forgotten that crying too hard always made him hiccup.

 

"Yeah, yeah, Berkeley wait-listed me but I got in to Oberlin," Barry responded. "But hey, if I get in to Berkeley later, we can both move in at the same time! How sick would that be?"

 

Sam chuckled and hiccupped again. Frowning, he rubbed a fist over his sternum. "Pretty sick. You practicing how to talk like a Californian already?"

 

"You know it, dude! You should too if you wanna fit in there," Barry advised.

 

"Fit in? Me? Not much chance of that, Barry."

 

"Hey now, it's college! Chance to start fresh, you know? You could dye your hair, get some piercings or a tattoo if you want!"

 

In the background, Sam could hear Barry's parents shouting "NO TATTOOS."

 

"Fine, you could get a henna tattoo. Or, I dunno, change your wardrobe a bit. But still! Stanford! You're gonna love it there, dude!" Barry continued.

 

"Yeah... I hope I do," Sam replied. Hearing the familiar growl of the Impala's engine, he lowered his voice and said, "They're coming back early, I gotta go, okay?"

 

"Okay! We love you, bye!" Barry relayed, over the belated shouts of "love you" and "congratulations" from Ericka and their parents. Sam smiled softly.

 

"Love y'all too. Bye," he whispered, and hung up. And hiccupped again, just as the motel room door banged open.

 

"SAAaaaammmyyyyyy," Dean called, giggling hoarsely. "You shou--shoulda come with us! We made it biiiiiig!"

 

Sam gave the mirror a cursory glance and splashed some more water on his face before exiting into the room. Dad gave him a look as he dropped Dean onto the bed. "Your brother got a bit too into the act," he explained with a slight grimace, bending down to take off Dean's shoes. Sam pursed his lips and stepped closer to move the dinky little trashcan to the bedside. Dean made grabby hands for it, but ended up just propping his elbows on it and hunching over, still giggling.

 

"Grab some water, Sammy? He'll be feeling it in the morning," Dad ordered, in the same voice he used to demand pushups and 5-mile runs. Sam lowered his eyes and headed back into the bathroom, muttering, "Yes sir."

 

He couldn't help himself from stomping slightly as he reentered with the cup, pale mineral flakes swirling in the just-barely-filtered water like glitter in a snowglobe. Sometimes he thought about the way his health classes recommended drinking filtered water, eating certain amounts of vegetables, home-cooked foods, avoiding copious amounts of alcohol and smoke-filled environments, and he thought that if the hunting didn't kill them, their lifestyle choices definitely would. Dad was basically the definition of a functioning alcoholic, and Dean was well on his way to joining him. At least he'd managed to stop Dean from smoking back when he'd caught his brother buying a pack at the liquor store two towns ago.

 

All he'd had to say was, "Dad'll notice when you start wheezing during morning workouts," and Dean had paled and returned the pack immediately. Every time. Dean would never listen to a reasoned argument about health effects, taking care of his body for its own sake, but he'd jump through flaming hoops if he thought Dad might clap him on the shoulder for it.

 

Sam lifted his brother's hand and folded his fingers around the cup, urging him to drink. In the back of his mind, he continued to fume over the utter unfairness of it all. In any other family, he could have given Stanford his own address for the letter, told Dean and Dad straight-off and they would have been proud of him. Maybe they wouldn't go out for a celebratory dinner, but he could have at least gotten a ride up to campus, maybe been able to go to Admit Weekend. But no, here he was the odd one for asking "why?" instead of "how high?" when Dad said "jump." Here he was the outsider for wanting something more from his life than the back seat of his dad's car and a pyre before he reached fifty. Twenty-five, if he was being realistic.

 

Dean gulped the water and fell backwards onto the bed, dropping both cup and trashcan from uncoordinated fingers. Sam jumped at the noise, shooting a glare at Dad where the man sat at the room's grimy table drinking from a flask. "Why'd you let him drink so much?" Sam asked, failing to keep the judgement out of his voice and not caring too much about it.

 

"Boy's 21, he's allowed to indulge," Dad said, without looking up. Sam gritted his teeth.

 

"Yeah, well, I'd appreciate if he didn't INDULGE and steal the bed when it's his turn to be on the rollout," he snapped, turning to the shitty little couch-cot in disgust. He'd slept on it last night and his back was killing him still.

 

Dad shrugged. "Leave him alone, he made over $300 tonight. When you bring in that much, you can have the bed."

 

Sam turned away, fingers clenching hard in an effort to keep from flipping his dad the bird. He yanked back the blankets from the rollout and threw himself down, skin crawling at the shriek of its tired springs. He rolled until he faced the wall, closing eyes that blurred with frustrated tears and forcing his hitching breaths to even out. In any other family, he'd be celebrating today. In any other family, he could see today as the beginning of his new life, not as the death knell of his place within the Winchester hierarchy.

\-----

 

The next morning, Dean woke up groaning and holding his head. When Sam brought him another cup of water (after rinsing the carpet germs off the glass), his brother peered up at his face.

 

"You okay, sis? You look..." He trailed off as Sam glared and thrust the cup at him. "...Even bitchier than normal. Okay. What's up?"

 

For a second, Sam contemplated telling his brother. It was good news, after all. Maybe, just maybe, his brother would be happy for him.

 

Then, predictably, Dean had to ruin it.

 

"That time of month already?" he asked, smirking.

 

Sam felt a muscle tick in his jaw. "You know what, Dean?" he asked. His brother blinked blearily up at him as Sam thought over the best way to phrase this. "Yeah. Yeah, it's the first day. Of my MENSES. You know, that's when the blood comes out the most. And it's not like bleeding from a wound, either, it's lumpy like yogurt before you mix it, and it just comes," he leaned in for the kill, "GUSHING out every time I fuckin' sneeze."

 

Dean turned green and groped for the wastebasket, barely grabbing it in time. "Damn, sis, you're like, extra-hyper-bitchy today," he groused once he'd finished gagging. "And gross," he added with awed horror.

 

Sam shrugged, grabbing his backpack. "You asked," he reminded his brother. "I'm off to the library, throw that out before you stink up the whole room. OUTSIDE, Dean."

 

Dean flipped him off, hunching over the basket again. Sam left the room, slamming the door on his brother's renewed groans of discomfort and the sour funk of bile and day-old whiskey sweat. He took a breath of gasoline-laden parking lot air and resettled his backpack on his shoulders. A full ride. That gave him six months to scrape up the money for food and clothes, and to prepare his resume for work-study. Six months till he was free.

 

Sam looked over the parking lot and started walking. 'I can make six more months,' he decided.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm still working on some chapters for Call Me Sam, but I. I GOT A FULL RIDE TO A LANGUAGE STUDY PROGRAM. Like, I got the news three days ago. And then obviously I had to write a piece about Sam getting the news about his full ride (and honestly, Stanford financial aid is pretty damn good, like, if you get accepted they pretty much make sure you can go no matter what your EFC is).
> 
> So anyway, the usual disclaimers:
> 
> I picture this Sam as nonbinary, although he uses male pronouns and thinks of himself as Dean's brother. As always, constructive criticism and comments are welcome, please let me know if you think any part of this representation doesn't ring true.
> 
> If you haven't read Call Me Sam, Ericka is an OFC that Sam met through Barry (his friend from the bullying episode). I gave Barry an older trans sister because A) I wanted to, B) Sam needed to find out about queer culture from someone and C) I wanted Sam to have someone other than Bobby and Pastor Jim to be his mentor and support as he's trying to carve out an identity for himself outside of the Winchester dynamic. Ericka is loosely based on a real person, but she's basically the, you know, kind older queer character who helps baby queers find their way in the community. 
> 
> As for the menstruation mention, I think Sam definitely doesn't ENJOY what his body does every month, but he's accepted it as something he can't change until he has a transition team. Also, he's a younger sibling, which means he's perfectly willing to say whatever will disconcert and disgust his brother the most.


End file.
